


Something Spectacular (But I'm Not Sure What)

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sports Night/ESPN 80s AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is losing her mind (and her shoes), Bellamy is holding a grudge, and Lincoln is just trying to figure out the rules of cricket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Spectacular (But I'm Not Sure What)

**Author's Note:**

> This show is from 1998 so while I lifted a lot of technical jargon from it, some of the lingo might be technologically out of date. I am not in broadcast news, so I have no idea.

“Three minutes to air.”

“Ready one.”

“Stand by animation.”

Clarke emerges from under the desk, giving up her missing shoes for lost for the next hour and three minutes. 

Normally at this time of night she’d be riding high on the knowledge that she’s about to put a show on the air. Normally at this time of night she’d be settled into her seat, reigning over her studio with a cool head and the confidence that she and her team had everything in order for a successful show. But she’s been off today, and so instead she’s frantic and frazzled and barefoot, scrambling for her headset and glad that her senior associate producer is generally more on top of her life than Clarke is.

“I’m losing my mind,” Clarke huffs as Octavia slides into her spot at Clarke’s right-hand side.

“You’re hiding it well,” Octavia says dryly. She pushes a button and leans into her mic. “Guys, we gotta push segment four back. The game is going into a tenth inning. We’ll feed it to you after twelve.”

“Roger that. Over,” Raven says.

“Reyes, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times. Just because we’re using earpieces doesn’t mean you have to use radio lingo,” Octavia chides.

“At this point, I’m just trying to rile you up. Over.”

“Jasper, show me graphics on sixteen,” Clarke says, trying to regain her sense of equilibrium.

“We don’t have graphics for sixteen,” Jasper says, shooting Clarke a concerned look.

“Is this show gonna go off the rails?” Octavia asks.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m a professional. I do not let my personal life affect my work.”

“Not unless your girlfriend is waiting and you decide to hand the show over to Gina.” Everyone tenses awkwardly because as low as Bellamy muttered it, the microphone he’s wearing makes his words distinct and audible.

If Clarke is being honest, Bellamy’s sudden hostility toward her is a large factor in her recent forgetfulness and inability to keep track of things like shoes. 

It’s not even that he doesn’t like Gina. Gina is the executive producer on the 2 a.m. show and besides being damn good at her job, she’s honestly a lot easier to get along with than Clarke is most of the time. In fact, Bellamy likes her so much that he went out with her a few times. She’s seeing Raven now, but Clarke is pretty sure her split with Bellamy was amicable.

No, his problem isn’t that Clarke handed over the show once the never-ending tennis match reached enough extra sets that it fell into Gina’s jurisdiction. His problem is that Clarke handed over the show because Lexa was waiting on her and Clarke knew that choosing the show over her girlfriend would have been the final piece in the Jenga tower that brought her relationship crumbling down.

It crumbled down anyway, but she hasn’t told anyone that. She feels crappy enough for handing over the show--  _ her _ show, her  _ baby _ \-- without it being pointed out that her efforts were for naught.

As much as Bellamy’s petulance is rattling her, she elects to ignore it. She’ll yell at him later, while she looks for her shoes probably, and he’ll follow her around to argue with her because that’s what they do. He gets self-righteously worked up and she gets defensive because after  _ years _ of working together, hasn’t she proven herself enough? And they’ll work it out. She hopes.

He’s never been quite this angry before.

“Good show everybody,” she says, swallowing back her acidic retorts.

“Thirty seconds live,” Monty announces.

Clarke watches Raven and Bellamy banter lightly as the countdown begins, and then they’re letting polished, friendly smiles overtake their more natural expressions.

“Those stories, and more,” Raven starts, transitioning into the intro she’d hastily scribbled that morning. She never over thinks her writing, confident in her ability to get it right the first time.

As Bellamy picks up where Raven leaves off, Clarke thinks he’s probably been fine-tuning his lines in the back of his mind until this very moment. It’s always a little strange for her to hear his announcer voice, slightly deeper and smoother than his regular speaking voice, but she’s pretty used to his on-air charisma by now. He is, in Clarke’s opinion, one of the most captivating anchors on TV.

“All that coming up after this,” he says. “You’re watching Sports Station on ARK Network, so stick around.”

 

* * *

 

“You leave the money on the nightstand?”

Raven’s voice stops him in his tracks. He’d been so close to a clean escape, but of course he and his co-anchor have been partners too long for that to work for him. And as one of the main stakeholders in the 'Bellarke' Betting Pool (that he’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to know about, except that Jasper gets loose-lipped when he’s drunk), Raven’s been telling him to cut Clarke some slack ever since she dumped the show in Gina’s lap.

“I’m not sneaking out,” he protests, although he definitely is. He usually waits around to walk his sister out but he doesn’t want to get cornered by Clarke. Not tonight. “I’m not the one who--”

“Give it a rest.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard this song before. Clarke is allowed to have a personal life.”

“The rest of us don’t get the same courtesy.”

“If anyone understands the demands of our job, it’s Gina,” Raven says mildly. “That’s not why the two of you didn’t work out.” 

“Fair point.”

She falls into step with him as they walk toward the elevators, though Bellamy is sure she’s going to stop a couple of floors before he does so that she can swing by and kiss her girlfriend goodnight. 

“Look,” Raven says, her tone growing more serious. “Clarke obviously felt torn about it. She could’ve given the show to Gina way earlier. And if the way she’s spacing out lately is any indication, she’s clearly still punishing herself. She doesn’t need you punishing her too.”

“I’m not punishing her.” Raven lifts one sardonic, perfectly-manicured eyebrow. “I’m not. I want Clarke to be happy. But... doing the show used to make her happy.”

He doesn’t know yet how to admit to Raven, much less to himself, that he thinks he would make Clarke pretty happy. If he got the chance. Lexa seems to make Clarke feel a lot of things: exceptional, respected, valued, wanted. And those are all well and good, but Lexa doesn’t make Clarke smile.

“You love Clarke,” Raven says, exasperated. “Even if it’s as platonic as you insist. Of course you want her to be happy. So how come you’re making her miserable?”

Bellamy doesn’t have a good answer for that.

 

* * *

 

“Are bare feet a new part of your dress code?” Lincoln asks with amusement when Clarke shows up shoeless the next day for the noon rundown meeting.

“I’m running with it. No pun intended. What was that phone call you got earlier?”

“Not sure yet.”

“What do you mean?” Octavia asks. She’d been the one who recommended him for the associate producer job a couple of months prior, and Clarke thinks the way O fought for him to be hired had less to do with his great contacts from his NFL days, less to do with his degree in PR and general competence, and more to do with how attractive he is. 

Not that Octavia would have presented to Clarke an unqualified candidate. She just also wouldn’t have taken such a personal interest in his work.

“A guy called earlier to tell me about a cricket match in New Delhi. This cricket player apparently did something incredible.”

“What’d he do?” Raven asks, speaking around the pen in her mouth.

“That’s the thing-- I don’t know,” Lincoln admits. “I don’t know anything about cricket.”

“Ah, cricket. The gentleman’s sport,” says Bellamy, leaning back in his chair. He hasn’t looked at her once.

“Then they’d never let  _ you _ play,” Octavia says, throwing a sugar packet at him. “If we don’t understand it what are the chances our viewers are going to understand?”

“Or care?” Jasper adds.

“That’s the other thing I’m trying to figure out,” Lincoln says, smiling at Octavia. She’s really the only one he smiles at and it always makes Bellamy wrinkle his nose in disgust. Clarke can’t blame him; they are a little sappy. “I wouldn’t have even brought it up except I was told it was the play of a lifetime. He got all ten wickets in one inning.”

Monty whistles lowly. 

“I don’t have any idea what that means,” says Raven, “but it sure sounds impressive.”

“Keep looking into it.” Clarke clicks buttons at random on her tablet. She can’t seem to remember what exactly she was looking for. 

“I don’t know how comfortable I am reporting on a story I don’t understand,” Bellamy admits.

“The list of things you don’t understand is pretty long, so you might want to get comfortable,” Clarke says before she can stop herself. The room grows quiet and she clears her throat. “Alright. Item one.”

They finish the meeting without a hitch, but there’s still a strange tension Clarke can’t shake and she’s still feeling like she there’s something she’s forgetting or something she’s lost. She can’t put her finger on exactly what it is, but she’s sick of this standoff. She wants the duel already, and then to move on.

But Bellamy doesn’t want to fight for once. He’d avoided her after the show last night and he’d been all business during the day so far and it’s making Clarke feel sick.

“He won’t be mad forever,” Octavia says, having trailed Clarke to her office after the meeting. As his sister and another combative personality, Octavia is probably the foremost authority on Bellamy’s grudge-holding abilities. 

Then again, she’s his baby sister. She usually thinks Bellamy is more of a hardass than he really is, because she’s so used to rankling against his authority. She usually thinks he’s being more irrational than he really is, because she somehow doesn’t realize he’s on her side. Octavia sees Bellamy as an obstacle she’s learned to get around over the years. Bellamy sees himself as her ally, her first line of defense, no matter how many times she’s tried to tell him she doesn’t need or want that. It was one of Clarke’s reservations when hiring Octavia.

So Clarke is prepared to take her advice with a grain of salt, but she is prepared to take the advice.

“I don’t care how long he’s mad at me, as long as he’s fighting with me,” Clarke admits, rubbing her face tiredly. “He’s never been mad like this before. He’s never just… distant.”

“He usually thinks you’re on his side,” Octavia says harshly. She has a great many talents, but empathy isn’t one of them. “Even when you had different opinions, he thought you had the same goals. He always puts the show first.” She sighs. “When it came down to it, he thought you’d make the same choice, and then you didn’t. I think he’s not fighting with you because he doesn’t know what argument to make. He doesn’t know whose side you’re on anymore.”

And it’s funny, even though it’s not, because Clarke had just been thinking the same thing about Octavia.

“I’m on his side,” she says softly. 

“Don’t tell me. Tell him.”

 

* * *

 

“I have no idea what I’m looking at,” Bellamy says, trying to follow the action. His head isn’t in it. And even if his head were in it, he still isn’t sure he’d understand the game of cricket.

“According to my source,” says Lincoln, pausing the playback. “This guy ‘edged a humble snorter to the slips,’ and then the other one ‘dived to his right to pick up a low snatch.’”

Bellamy blinks at him uncomprehendingly.

“I’m pretty sure that’s gibberish.”

“No, come on. We can figure this out. We’re well-educated sports professionals.” He looks back at the email, studying it as if it will magically make sense this time.

“Clearly the slip was lower than it normally is,” Bellamy offers.

“I think you mean the snatch.”

“Whatever.”

“Let me just say I’m really glad you’re here, looking over my shoulder,” Lincoln deadpans. “Seriously. You have an office. Why are you hiding out in the editing bay?”

“I’m not hiding out.”

Lincoln gives him a pointed look.

“I haven’t worked here that long but even I know you’d normally rather be bugging Clarke than bugging me.”

“I’m trying to educate myself about cricket.”

“It’s a losing battle,” Lincoln sighs. “I’m ready to give up.”

Bellamy squints at him.

“Is this your way of trying to get me to leave you alone?”

Lincoln grins.

“Is it working?” Bellamy purses his lips and rolls the chair back, ignoring Lincoln when he calls after him, “Go back to your office! Put us all out of our misery.”

Bellamy wants to laugh but he can’t help thinking about what Raven said the night before. The last thing he wants is for his friends to be miserable. For Clarke to be miserable. For everyone to get sucked into the black hole of his own misery.

Because truly, he’s pretty miserable too. He doesn’t like going an entire work day without seeing Clarke. He misses her, even though the rational part of him knows she’s just down the hall and she’d probably love to yell at him, would love to have him yell at her.

So he goes back to his desk and starts to gear up.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke knocks on the office her anchors share, Raven gets up immediately.

“You don’t have to leave,” Bellamy protests. Hurt stabs at Clarke. He doesn’t even want to be alone in the room with her.

“No way am I staying,” Raven fires back. “I want you two to work your drama out, but I don’t want to be around for it. I’m closing the door behind me. Remember: this glass isn’t soundproof.”

“Noted,” Clarke says, watching Raven walk away instead of letting herself look at Bellamy like she wants to. She feels him stand and come around his desk to lean on it, but they’re both silent.

“You here to try to justify yourself?” He asks, gruff.

“No.”

She makes eye contact finally, glad she braced herself for it. The force of his stare nearly always threatens to knock her off balance, but it’s even weightier after so much avoidance.

“Good,” he says. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Clarke sags against the door and reaches back to pull the pins out of her hair. Her scalp aches and she wishes she could relax. Even her free time has been stressful lately.

“I thought I was coming to apologize,” she says, exhaustion seeping into her tone. “But honestly, I’m so damn tired, Bell. I’m tired of having to prove myself to you over and over again. You’ve got to start trusting that I have the show’s best interests at heart, because I need you. You make me better. You make the show better. But it’s not gonna work if you can’t trust me.”

“Oh, well, it’s all fixed now.” His tone, for all its sarcasm, is heated and Clarke doesn’t have it in her to match his fire. “I can’t just fall in line, Clarke. Trust is earned.”

“And I’ve earned it. More than once over.”

“And you lost it when you went chasing after your girlfriend when we were all relying on you. How do I know you won’t give us up again the next time Lexa gives you an ultimatum?”

“Because the second I made the call I knew it was a shitty one. And I’ve let you treat me like crap the past few days because I know I deserve it. But now it’s time to get over it because the show has to come first.” She doesn’t yell it, doesn’t match his volume, but she infuses as much conviction as she can into her words. Octavia was right. They have to be on the same side, here. 

“And not that it matters,” she says, in a smaller voice. Interestingly, it’s this one that makes his head jerk up, makes him listen more closely. “But Lexa isn’t in the picture anymore. She got a job on the West coast and she asked me to come with her. I told her I wasn’t leaving Sports Station.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen as he takes this in. Even when he’s not on camera, he’s got one of the most expressive faces she’s ever seen. It’s how she knows he’s always real with her; his face can’t cover his feelings as well as his words can.

“How come you didn’t tell me?” He asks. It’s probably the first time in a week he’s spoken to her without any venom.

Clarke’s gaze is steady.

“You’re not a consolation prize.”

Bellamy considers her for a moment, the way she’s still slumped against the glass, the way she feels like her face is raw with honesty and vulnerability. Before she quite knows it, he’s stepping closer and pulling her into his arms. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and trying not to cry because her makeup would definitely ruin his shirt.

“Okay,” he breathes. And just like that she feels better. 

“Okay?” She asks, laughing shakily, disbelieving and relieved.

“Okay.”

She doesn’t know what exactly he means: if he’s saying they’re okay now, if he’s saying she’s going to be okay. It sounds like ‘I believe you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ all in one. It’s probably some combination of all of those things. It grounds her in the way that only Bellamy can.

“Good talk,” she says, sniffing as she pulls away. He gives her a lopsided smile that’s so much better than his TV smile. “Get back to work.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” he teases.

“Well it won’t be me floundering scriptless in front of millions of viewers,” she says, like she wouldn’t care if he tanked the whole thing.

“Fine,” he mock groans. “Send Reyes back in here. We need to divvy up the MLS.”

“Will do.”

“Oh, and Clarke?” She turns just in time to catch something he’s thrown at her. Thank goodness she works in sports, where hand-eye coordination is an unofficial part of the job description. “Don’t forget these.”

Her eyes narrow.

“You stole my shoes.”

“I did not.”

“Out of spite.”

“I  _ found _ your shoes under the catering table this morning.” He flashes her a smirk. “I held onto them out of spite.”

Clarke presses her lips together, aiming for reproachful instead of vaguely amused but not quite getting there.

“That sounds about right.”

 

* * *

 

“Two minutes back,” Monty announces when they hit the final commercial break of the night.

“How do you feel about me blowing off thirty two?” Bellamy asks. Clarke bites her lip to keep from smiling too much. She’s learned from experience it kind of freaks her staff out.

“What, you still boggled by the civilized game of cricket?”

“While we can give you a technical play-by-play,” Lincoln says, sounding rather defeated, “we still have no idea what it is this guy did or why it’s so amazing.”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, dry. “You don’t think our viewers are gonna feel shafted if they aren’t told some guy halfway around the world got twelve pickets in an inning?”

“Ten wickets,” Bellamy corrects her. “And I think our aim is to enlighten, not to obfuscate.”

“Nerd,” Octavia scoffs under her breath. It's all a farce; she’d pushed the button first to make sure Bellamy could hear her.

“They drink tea and wear white,” says Clarke, the smile slipping onto her face. It feels like pulling out a favorite sweater she hasn’t worn in a while and finding that it still fits like a glove. “What else does anyone need to know?”

“Something about snuffing, I think.”

“You mean snorting,” Lincoln interjects. 

“Are cricket players on drugs?” Jasper asks, with measurable interest. “That could be a story of some kind.”

“I don’t think it’s anything that interesting,” Bellamy tells him before turning his attention back to Clarke. “I’m more comfortable blowing it off and stretching thirty if you give me the green light.”

“I thought you didn’t take orders from me.”

Bellamy’s eyes drift from off to the left to focus on the cameras and it almost feels like he’s looking right at her through the monitors.

“I don’t,” he says with a smirk that softens to something more earnest. “But I trust your judgment.”

She’s horrified to find a lump rising in her throat and pauses to swallow hard before she replies.

“Let’s cut thirty two. Raven, stay tuned to pick up some slack on thirty three if we need to make up some air time.”

“You got it, boss. Over.”

Bellamy gives the camera his broadest, most breathtaking smile as Raven and Octavia start bickering back and forth. 

Clarke still kind of wants to cry, but it luckily comes out as choked laughter. She doesn’t regret choosing this-- these people, this job, her home-- for a second. She’s exactly where she belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> I might expand this AU in the future but as I got to the end, it didn't feel like good timing for them to confess feelings/make out/start anything romantic. Let me know if you'd want to see more!


End file.
